But Fear Itself
by Wayward
Summary: G1: The Monitor Eidolon captures the Pretender Monsters to make a weapon out of them to take over Cybertron. Problem is, whether she succeeds or fails, every living thing on Cybertron will die, and the world's only hope is a couple technicians. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**But Fear Itself  
Chapter One **

The main problem about being the in-house tech at an outpost, Alkali decided, was the 'out' part.

"Captain Skycoil?"

The Seeker behind the desk pointed a finger at her without looking up from his holomap. "Don't call me that. You only use my title when you want something."

Which was true. Skycoil was a rather unusual Decepticon in that he insisted that everyone in the base was equal. More or less. Of course he was still their leader, but he didn't like the formality of the title. Things might be different if they were in a populated area, but with no one else around, he thought insisting on his title was a bit silly. Alkali was used to commanding officers who insisted she speak to them respectfully no matter what, and the habit was hard to break. "I need to make a supply run, Skycoil."

To be honest, her supplies would hold out for another few weeks, but she liked to restock before she ran out of anything. A run could take days or weeks, and she had to make sure nothing was planned in her absence. She was the only real technician on the base. If there was a battle or a raid planned, she would be sorely missed after the fact.

Her current place of employment was a tiny outpost in the Eighth Sector, near the Five-Eight border. The warriors had dubbed the place Middle long before Alkali had joined the crew, and she wasn't surprised to learn it was short for 'Middle Of A Primus-Forsaken Crater.' There had been a city once, but it had been razed some four-hundred-thousand years ago, and no one cared what its name was any more. Sometimes there was life in the ruins, but it was almost invariably neutral scavengers or empties. The nearest cluster of life was a borehole of a town called Yix, and Alkali was sure the place only existed because it had the only oil house in the region. The whole area was a wasteland. Still, someone higher up had decided that there was some kind of tactical advantage to be had out there, so Middle existed. Alkali had been there for thirty-six years now.

Oh, there were advantages to it. Alkali wasn't fond of cities in general, for one. The fact that the outpost was small enough that she was the only real technician on staff was another plus. She usually worked alone. The outpost got few visitors – Alkali didn't mind people, no, but she didn't like them just dropping in. She had her own projects to work on and didn't like to be interrupted. With forewarning she could be friendly, but not without notice.

The disadvantage was that supplies weren't as easily obtained as they could be in a city. In theory she could ask Skycoil to have things brought in with the regular supply shipments, but Alkali didn't trust a middlemech not to mess up her order or try to figure out what she was up to, and Alkali was an artist. Artists didn't give up their secrets willingly.

Captain Skycoil was one of a legion of such beings she had worked for over the course of her life – a Decepticon base commander with an interest in the arts. He gave her space to work and a small gallery, and let her use her spare time however she wished. In return, she kept the base and the warriors in good condition, and helped with interrogations. Skycoil appreciated her art, but in a fairly limited way.

She rather liked how he ran the place though, so she forgave him for being less cultured than previous masters. Skycoil had fourteen air warriors of various types under his command, for fifteen total. However, he insisted that they all be able to work together in any configuration, forbidding the usual trines. He was all for organisation and teamwork, but he didn't allow set teams within his subordinates.

With Alkali they were sixteen, and when she asked to come along on missions, Skycoil generally let her. She wasn't at the warriors' level of skill, but she could hold her own against an ordinary Autobot soldier. Alkali supposed she could just ask the air warriors to bring a few prisoners back, but, really, she thought of the outings as supply runs rather than battles, and she liked to pick out her own materials.

She got along well enough with Skycoil and his warriors. A few only tolerated her because she repaired them after battles, but most were friendly enough. When they went to Yix to drink, they tended to invite Alkali along. Alkali added an extra bit of fun to pubbing. As well, the warriors knew that bringing their technician an empty or two could yield a few hours of amusement if she was in a mood to show off her skills.

But for her art, she needed specific supplies. The closest real city – at least, the closest one that was under Decepticon control – was Aradix, in the Fifth Sector.

Skycoil finally looked up. "Eight days, Alkali."

"That will be sufficient." With a slight bow, the chemist left his office.

Alkali returned to her workshop. She needed to pick up her inventory list and trailer first, then she could start for Aradix.

She found Polestar waiting for her in the workshop. Polestar was a Vilnacron-C07 gliderjet, a breed that held some mild interest for an art student. Several of the recent Vilnacron flight styles were created by Calliper, who had been fairly well-known as a body-shell designer. She had finally sold out at the beginning of the last war, and likely only joined the Decepticons because they were the ones she happened across first. Alkali had met the designer twice, both times before Calliper had signed on, and frankly hadn't been surprised when she heard she had sold out. Calliper was mercenary, and had only held out so long because claiming neutrality was considered rebellious.

The warrior grinned at her. "Your vibes are positive. Skycoil let you go?"

"I've got eight days to get to Aradix, pick up my supplies, and get back." It wasn't a daunting prospect. The city was less than two days' drive at a reasonable speed.

"Want an escort?"

Alkali turned away so Polestar couldn't see her visor flash. Emotion still radiated from her, and probably struck a sensitive like Polestar like a slap. "I don't need one."

Receding footfalls and the sound of the door signalled Polestar's retreat. Alkali sighed. She knew she had hurt the warrior. Polestar thought that Alkali and her art were fascinating. She knew enough not to ask how it was done and she knew enough to properly appreciate it. As the unofficial secondary technician, Polestar was extremely useful. She was also determined to befriend everyone in the outpost. Alkali rather liked her, which meant that if Polestar didn't die or back off soon, Alkali was going to have to leave. Skycoil would never let Alkali get away with the murder of one of his troops.

* * *

Aradix had begun existence as a xenoimport spaceport, with a few refineries to process the alien materials for shipping to other parts of Cybertron. The spaceport was rarely used any more, but the refineries were. The warriors of Middle sometimes went to the city to support its defenders on those occasions it was attacked, but more often they just went to drop off the body-shells of those they had killed. Scrap metal was scrap metal, Alkali couldn't conjure materials from the air, and the Aradix refineries were of much better quality than the little one in the outpost. 

Despite trade dropping off during the last war, Aradix was still known as a place to go for xenoimports. Aradix's governor even had a few aliens on staff for dealing with races that otherwise wouldn't do business with Decepticons. Because of this, sometimes Alkali could get her hands on chemicals that she couldn't ordinarily procure on Cybertron. If her dealers happened to have something interesting in Alkali might try it, but she rarely looked specifically for novelty chemicals.

"Alkali!"

The chemist shifted her attention to the figure across the road. There was no mistaking a being that looked to be half made of keyboards. "Euphony."

There was no proper Artist's Quarter in Aradix, but there were still a few scattered artists and assayers who either worked for the governor or just wanted first crack at alien artefacts and ideas. Euphony was one of the latter, a refugee from Betacron. Despite that, he was no artist himself, but a supplier – Euphony was a collector and dealer in sound. Alkali had never known him to wear a faction symbol, but she had seen him fight before, and his warrior's skill was probably a large part of the reason he was still alive. Given his inability to fly, she suspected he had started his life as an Autobot.

He jogged over to her. "It's good to hear the voice of an artist again."

Alkali transformed. "There are others in the city."

Euphony waved a hand dismissively. "Pah."

Which, given Euphony, meant nothing more than that none of the others wanted to listen to him. Like any collector, he showed off his collection at any opportunity. Generally, those opportunities were found by cornering someone. "But I wanted to find you, anyway," Euphony continued, extending two sonic collectors from his back. "Sing the tertiary voice of the first twelve bars of the _Canthrethan Aishea_ for me."

"What?"

"Do it, or I give you a lecture on the technical reasons why I want your voice for it," Euphony threatened.

She had never had an interest in music, but millennia of going to various bashes and gathers gave her a working knowledge of the better-known pieces. Too surprised by the request to argue, Alkali sang it, then shook her head. "Ach, I'll never understand you audiles."

"Your voice has the right harmonics for a project I'm working on," shrugged Euphony, retracting his sonic collectors. "And while I've got you, I want to see what you make of this. It's a bit of xeno music I received a few hours ago."

"I didn't see any ships."

"No, it came over the space-bridge. One of Straxus' lieutenants sends me any music they end up with, and in return gets to think he's part of the artistic community." Euphony had a web of contacts on both sides, and played them like he played his own keyboards. He tapped a few notes on the small keyboard set into his right arm, and a low, monotonous hum issued from the speakers on his arms.

Alkali listened to the droning noise for a minute, then realised what was bothering her about it. "This has words."

The collector smiled smugly and waited. Alkali hazarded, "This is a dirge?"

Given Euphony's sense of humour, she knew she was wrong as soon as she asked. "Oh, stop thinking like a Cybertronian," he teased. "No, the song is a protest. An expression of the artist's individuality."

"Ach, most art is."

"No, no, that's what she's singing _about_. The _lyrics_ speak about how she's an individual and wants to live her own life, without this person from her past returning to control her."

Alkali made a face. "She has to use _words_ for that?"

Euphony shrugged. "You heard how limited the music was. The idea can't be expressed through the music itself, so lyrics are put in to compensate."

"Is it all like that?"

"From that world? Of course not, but it all sounds the same after a while. They have such a limited hearing range, so all their music falls in that span." Euphony's hand went to the keyboard on his left side. "I've also acquired a selection of Thahiri hymns, the latest from Jazz, the sound of a phythas tree burning, a recent speech by Megatron, the dying scream of a …"

"I've only got four days in the city, Euphony."

"Churl. I'll make a music-lover of you yet," said Euphony, but he smiled before he turned away. "Flux is hosting a bash next month, and I _know_ you'll make time for _him_. I'll beam you the details when I get them," he called over his shoulder.

Alkali chuckled a bit as she resumed her truck-mode. Euphony could be an over-enthusiastic nuisance, but he was still a good contact. Besides, now he owed her a favour for use of her voice.

Her primary dealer lacked most of what she wanted, and Alkali left rather disappointed. When she returned to where she left her trailer, her radiation sensors flickered slightly.

Mid-transform, her sensors flashed a warning before her systems went offline.

* * *

The Sapphire City was the second-largest of the Decepticon metropoli, surpassed only by Polyhex. Either were good places to get lost in, though Polyhex held the Darkmount which held the spacebridge which attached to Earth, and Earth held … 

Steelcast glowered at her energon cube. She had come to the Sapphire City to _not_ think about just who was on Earth. She would clear her mind and _then_ think about them – not before. This was too large a decision to rush into without considering every angle. That, and she had been herself for too long to give that up easily.

She preferred her cities on a smaller scale, if only because it was easier to find a bar. A large city had too much choice, if such a thing was possible. Steelcast had decided to go for a place that combined proximity to the refinery and general seediness. Clean, respectable oil houses felt wrong. If she couldn't write her name in the dirt on the wall, the bar wasn't right for her. Currently, she was sitting at a small table at the back of a tavern. She had already scratched "For a good time, tell Auger he's a useless lump" and his radio frequency in the grime, and she was now nursing an energon cube.

Work was easy to find. It wasn't that she had such an amazing reputation that people fell over themselves to have her on their projects. She couldn't even pick out some piece of architecture or invention or process and say, "Hey, _I_ did that." Prefab design wasn't something that impressed anyone. Still, people were always dying, or being drafted, or both, and needing to be replaced, and she had a wide skill set and six million years of experience. Steelcast could join almost any kind of project with no warning and minimal instruction.

Another thing that worked in her favour was that she wasn't picky. Her current assignment was nothing more glamorous than slag-hauling. Most techs wouldn't touch such a job, seeing it as below them. To Steelcast, work was work, and personal honour could go hang. She preferred designing prefab pieces and structures, but she would put up with grunt work. She didn't lose anything by doing it and it kept her busy. Besides, she never stayed in one place for long, so it wasn't like she would be working below her potential for the rest of her life.

That, and she liked working in refineries. It probably had to do with her alt-mode, but Steelcast enjoyed temperatures that others considered oppressively hot and she liked the smell of molten metal. Other Transformers found it a bit morbid, but to Steelcast it was comforting and familiar, a smell of creation rather than destruction. Sometimes she would scoop up a handful from the smelter just to feel it run through her fingers.

She kept with those thoughts. Mindless busywork was good for clearing the mind and volcanic conditions were comfortable for a being who once repaired a crack at the bottom of Straxus' smelting pool without the thing being drained first. Granted, she had to have some pretty serious repairs after that one, but she couldn't name anyone else who could have pulled a stunt like that and lived …

Steelcast watched the last of the energon drain from the cube, retracted her siphon back into her side, and watched the cube dissipate. She was deciding whether or not she wanted another one when a large fist crashed down on her table. Steelcast glanced up without interest. "Hi, Turbine. I can't think of a single thing I've done that could have got you mad."

Turbine was the kind of generally unpleasant, by-the-books supervisor type that Steelcast didn't like but would generally let alone. More importantly, he was her current boss. For once she hadn't stolen anything or otherwise caused a fuss. She had spent her time in his section hauling slag and keeping out of the way, so she was rather confused.

Her supervisor glared down at her. "I found your military service record. The lack of it, anyway."

Oh. _That_ was it. "_You_ ever been anywhere near a battle?"

"At least I _went_ through basic," Turbine retorted.

"Then you've seen my civilian service record, too. That's why I'm a better tech than you – I don't waste my time picking up skills I know I'll never use."

"You're scared!"

Steelcast knew she was being goaded and didn't like it. As well, it seemed out of character for Turbine to resort to insults and put himself at risk. While it was true she wanted to punch Turbine's face in now, well, she _was_ trying to work on controlling her temper, so it wouldn't do to just attack him. She had no mouth, but she radiated the equivalent of a nasty smile. "They don't want me because I'm a great tech and more useful doing civilian duties. What's _your_ excuse?"

She was trying to work on controlling her temper, but it didn't count if the other person threw the first punch. Turbine roared and attacked, throwing himself over the small table … tried to. Steelcast brought her knee up, half-tearing the tabletop from the bolted-down stand, and caught Turbine in the neck with the edge.

Steelcast had no formal combat training. She enjoyed brawling and wasn't too bad at it, but that was mostly because she was rather bigger and much heavier than most techs, and she knew how to use that. She had once won a fight merely because she fell on her opponent.

She stepped out from behind the table and lifted Turbine by his neck. "If you wanted me out of your section, you could have just _transferred_ me."

Turbine was looking past her. He wasn't cunning enough to be pulling any sort of trick, so Steelcast turned to see what he was looking at.

Something touched her back before she completed the move, and the world erupted in lights.

* * *

The return to consciousness was painful. Alkali's circuits tingled unpleasantly from the effects of a nullifier, and it felt as if she had been dropped on the floor from a height. Wherever she was, it had the feel of rust and corrosion, though the floor she could see was spotless. The walls had a type of low-level radiation seeping through them, but nothing she could determine as dangerous. The floor was gray-purple. She levered herself up on one arm and found the walls were gray-purple as well. A Decepticon building, or at least not an Autobot one. That was either mildly good or extremely bad. Given how she had arrived, she decided it was extremely bad. She stood up. 

Her pick was gone, as was the cable that connected it to her body; only the connector on her gauntlet showed it had ever been there at all. There was an inhibitor field that jammed her access to packet pockets but didn't interfere with transformation, or at least with part of it – her trailer wasn't with her. She couldn't feel it, but she didn't think it had been destroyed. She would have felt it if it was. Just the inhibiting field blocking access, then. It was still unnerving being unable to feel most of her body.

Alkali was certain the room was a holding cell, despite its odd shape. It was domed, the top half of a sphere. The only real feature was a recharge port at about waist-height. She walked over and scanned it, just for something to do. It was an ordinary recharge port. She wouldn't be left to de-energize, at least.

There had to be a door, but she couldn't find it. Alkali spent the next while scanning the room with every sense at her disposal, and finding nothing she could use.

* * *

Almost an hour later, a circular port partway up the wall opened and Alkali got company. A large Decepticon that stank of smelt and furnaces fell out of the opening and landed with a crash. 

By look, scent, and energy fields, the newcomer was a tech – now on her aft and swearing vehemently. There were vague similarities between them: both had hauler-alts, but where Alkali was the cab of a chemical transport, this one was a complete crucible-hauler. Both had short flanges on their helms, but where Alkali's helmet was designed in the traditional chemist style, the other's seemed to be merely the thing on her head to protect her cranial unit. She didn't smell like a chemist anyway.

The other glared at Alkali as she got up. "You bring me here?"

Standing, the other was about a metre taller and rather bulkier than Alkali. She wondered if she could take her in a fight if it came to that. "I'm trapped myself."

"Slot. I want to punch something and now it can't be you." She turned and punched the wall instead. The paint scuffed a bit, but the wall otherwise remained undamaged. She twisted at the waist to look back at Alkali – if she had only turned her head, the view would have been blocked by a sweep of her crucible. "How long you been here for?"

"About an hour." Then, because she might as well, she said, "I'm Alkali."

"Steelcast. How'd you get grabbed?"

Alkali shrugged. "I was on a supply run in Aradix when someone got me with a nullifier. I didn't get a look at him, but I did touch his field. He was tainted with the radiation of this building."

The other nodded. "A lump picked a fight with me in a bar in the Sapphire City, then someone tagged me in the back with a surger." Steelcast walked over to the wall, laid her palm on it, then started walking, tracing the wall with her fingers. "Hnh, so we were both in Sector Five. If we're still in Five, it means we've been grabbed by Eidolon."

Alkali made a face. "The Monitor?" In Alkali's book, Monitors were nothing better than a bunch of lazy, backstabbing wirepullers. "What makes you so sure?"

Steelcast kept up her walk along the perimeter, tapping her fingers against the wall. Alkali had done much the same thing when she had first arrived and almost stopped the other tech, but decided that maybe the hauler might catch something she had missed. "This place feels like a watchtower," said Steelcast.

"Yeah?" Alkali _really_ didn't like the idea of being in a Monitor's watchtower.

"Yeah. My trinemate is one of the in-house techs at the Amnimount, and I've worked contracts at the Second and Eighth watchtowers. You get to recognise the charge in the fields – it's more like a personal aura than a building one."

Alkali didn't want to think about the fact that she was trapped in what was in essence a living building, so she focused on the first half of the sentence instead. She knew her interest in other people's groups bordered on obsessive, but she had her reasons. _My trinemate_, not, _one of my trinemates_. So, Steelcast implied she was one of two who had once been three. Two who weren't actually together but sounded like they were still on friendly terms. Alkali wasn't quite sure what to make of that yet, but she already didn't like it.

She became aware of Steelcast's attention and looked up. "Pardon?"

"Asked if you had any tools or weapons on you."

"Doesn't matter – there's an inhibitor field up that blocks packet access. I can feel that my weapons are gone, though I got my tools."

"Same here."

Steelcast stepped off the ground, hovering a few metres off the deck to continue her scans. Alkali watched for a while, then: "If we're caught by a Monitor like you think, you know she's watching us."

The hauler snorted and directed a rude gesture at the ceiling. The half-expected punishment failed to come, so Steelcast shrugged and turned back to the wall. "Proves nothing, I know. Any idea why you're here?"

"None. You?"

"No clue."

Alkali frowned. "There's got to be a pattern. What do you do?"

"I've done almost everything at least once and I travel around as a work-for-hire. My primary's prefab design … don't give me that emanation," Steelcast scolded as Alkali's radiations became haughty. "The stuff's useful and it can be good if done right, just nobody bothers doing it right except me. What are you – an architect afraid I'm going to take your job?"

Steelcast was annoyed rather than angry; she was probably used to being looked down on for her primary function. Alkali softened a little – she understood the attitude. "I'm a general tech. Right now I'm stationed in an outpost in Eight."

"General tech's not worth kidnapping," Steelcast snorted. "You've got 'chemist' written on you in three languages. What's your _real_ function?"

"Chemical emotive sculptor." She said it like a dare.

Steelcast shrugged. "That's worth grabbing, though slagged if I know what someone wants with a mind-artist and a prefab designer. Our products are pretty well opposites."

"You've heard of my art?" asked Alkali with some surprise. Chemical emotive sculpting was a rare craft. "You don't smell like a chemist – you must have some artistic background. Why didn't you mention it?"

"You don't want to hear it. I'm a hobbyist."

"You're a _poseur_?"

"This from a specialised drink-doper," Steelcast snapped. "I dabble in my spare time and try to keep up on the trends and lingo. I do _not_ pose."

The automatic response – "I am _not_ a drink-doper!" – would be untrue, and if Steelcast was a poseur she'd probably have been killed long ago. "All right," said Alkali.

Steelcast grinned, in her way. "You got a cocktail with a title like 'Shuts The Slag Up About How Great He Is'?"

"I have nine flavours of humility."

"I'm commissioning you once we're out of here."

"Coworkers, eh?"

"Lumps and braggarts, the lot of 'em."

It was a truce. Alkali went back to the original topic: "So we're both experts in our fields, with a broad skill base besides, though our fields have nothing to do with one another."

Steelcast nodded. "Though really I'd like to know what was so important that we couldn't just be, y'know, _hired_."

"You've done work in watchtowers," said Alkali. "Maybe you're wanted for that."

"Why not the in-house techs, then? Why not any of a thousand techs who know more than me?" demanded the hauler. "And why chemical emotive sculpting? Turn down any commissions lately?"

"No. As far as I know, I haven't got any enemies." Alkali thought that over. "Well, no more than the usual Autobots, but I can't think of anyone who would benefit from my disappearance." No one who was in any place to have her kidnapped. "My boss thinks I'm on a supply run, and if one of the High Council said she wanted to borrow me, he hasn't got the rank to fight back," grumbled Alkali. "Anyone going to miss you, Steelcast?"

"Ha. I'm the nomadic independent contractor. I could be gone for years before anyone thinks to look for me."

"So nobody's looking for us." Alkali snorted. "This just keeps getting less cheery the more I think about it."

There was a pneumatic hiss and a section of the wall drew back. The one standing in the doorway nodded slightly. "I am Memory, assistant to the Monitor Eidolon. I will give you your instructions, and you will carry them out."

Another tech, Alkali decided. The general corrosive stink of the place clung to her strongly, and her personal energy fields were weaker than any Alkali had ever felt in a non-spook. She was much smaller than either chemist or designer; she didn't even reach Alkali's shoulder, and her build was oddly slender. Odd because her legs were treads, and treads were usually only worn by the heavy, rugged types. She was painted overall in rust and gold – colours whose meanings didn't match and thus grated against Alkali's artistic sensibilities. Thick scarlet cables that ended in datataps hung to Memory's waist and swayed slightly with her movements. There was no place that they could go with her transform, and it clicked into place – Memory's hideous form made no sense because she was an Actionmaster.

"Where's the in-house techs?" asked Steelcast.

"The Monitor keeps none," said Memory. "The day-to-day maintenance is performed by drones. For this task, sentient, creative workers are required. You will fulfill this role."

Steelcast folded her arms. "I think it's traditional to ask, 'and if we don't?'"

Alkali knew it was coming and braced herself, but it didn't help. The radiation in the walls suddenly surged forth. The attack went straight to her mind, freezing her processor with dread. The part of her mind that was chemical emotive sculptor _knew_ that it was just radiation messing with her processor, forcing her neural net to mix memory and imagination into nightmares, but the rest of her curled up in a ball and whimpered.

The surge only lasted for a few seconds, but it took several minutes for the radiation to clear. Alkali eventually managed to speak again. "You stupid bootleg."

Steelcast sat up from where she had been lying on the floor. "If I'm going to let myself be threatened, the one doing the threatening had better be able to back it up."

"The threat is indeed real," said Memory. "Such is the power of the Monitor. Are you now sufficiently intimidated that I may tell you your tasks?"

"Yeah, fine."

* * *

She left a thread of her consciousness watching over Memory, then returned to her own body. 

The Monitor Eidolon sat in her control centre. Like everything else about her and the Nyxmount, it was carefully designed to intimidate any who experienced it. The room was high and vaulted, not that the ceiling could be seen without switching to other senses. The metal was rough and unpolished, and upswept piers and loose cables gave the place a strangely organic feel. Shadows clung to every crevice. Eidolon's command chair was on a high dais, with steps so steep that she had to fly to reach her throne of blades. Monitor screens hung from the ceiling showing various scenes around the Fifth Sector. It was permeated with her aura. It was an adytum of nightmare.

With a silent command from its master, a screen lowered, showing another room. This one looked like a fairly ordinary work bay, except for the large cylinder in the centre that reached from floor to ceiling. Another thought, and her mind touched the cylinder and that which was inside.

"Awaken."

Six minds roused in stasis-held bodies, resenting the intrusion of the Monitor. Their personal feelings were irrelevant.

She activated the control centre's comm unit. There was a suggestion of a sneer from one. _"Find it yet, trinket?"_

Their feelings were irrelevant, but it bothered Eidolon that they weren't afraid of her. Her radiations affected them, of course, but they didn't fear _her_. Of course, that was because they feared something else that blocked all lesser terrors from their minds, but Eidolon still didn't like it. Still, she was the one in control, and reminded them of that fact at any opportunity. "I _will_ find it, even if I must vivisect you all to do so."

_"Take us apart and it will cease to exist,"_ said another, a voice of assumed sophistication.

"There is no sign of it when you are apart, yet the effect of your combined mode is documented," said Eidolon. "I have performed the most thorough scans on you that my technology can provide, with special attention to your links. I have searched your packet connections for those pieces that are not a physical part of you when you are separate. They are dead metal in the void."

_"No slag."_

"Not inactive, fool. Not _in potentia_, not in stasis, not deactivated or drained – _dead_." She hissed in annoyance. "Where does it go? None of you have such weapons as your combined form does. Even taking all you are and all in your packets, such weapons cannot be built."

_"We're the ultimate gestalt – the whole really is greater than the sum of the parts!"_ sang another, an unsophisticated singsong screech.

Erudite accent forgotten in annoyance: _"Shut up, Wildfly."_

_"It's not **part** of us,"_ wailed one, a perpetual whine. _"Don't you think we've tried to find it? We'd help you if we could …"_

_"No we wouldn't,"_ boomed the fifth.

_"Yes we would! I would!"_ Wildfly chimed.

_"Shut **up**."_

_"Know not, you, the forces with which you tamper,"_ the last warned. _"He is not of us. Controlled, he cannot be."_

"Slog, as an artist you are brilliant, but as a Decepticon you are a disgrace," said Eidolon. "Sleep again. I have no more need of you at present."

* * *

Memory had led them to a proper repair bay, though the door was locked from the outside and didn't even have an inside control. The Actionmaster had sketched out the basic requirements, then left to let the techs figure out how to make the ideas reality. Alkali asked that she get her trailer back, but Memory said she would need to consult the Monitor. She had also left behind a disc with the more detailed requirements, which Alkali was reading off the table's computer with an ever-increasing feeling of disbelief. 

"Ach, listen to this: 'Shackles strong enough to hold a gestalt warrior, made of dead material,'" Alkali read, propped up on her elbows as she sat at the table.

Steelcast glanced back from where she was rummaging through a supply cabinet. "What the blazes does that mean? Can we use energy bonds?"

"Nope. Has to be physical, has to be dead."

Steelcast snorted. "Metal's metal. It's not alive unless we put life into it."

"Maybe she means inert."

"What, like solid xenon or something? How cold would it have to be for that?"

"Colder than feasible," said Alkali. "Maybe we could freeze ordinary metal, bringing the molecular motion down … no. Frozen matter is just matter waiting to be thawed. It's not dead, it's in stasis."

"Make 'em out of dead body-shells?" Steelcast suggested.

"Would that kind of metal be strong enough to hold a gestalt?"

Steelcast shut the cupboard and wandered back. "Maybe. We'll get back to it. What else she want?"

"Defences against a corrosive aura and energy draining."

The designer slumped into a chair. "Tell me this thing has appendices that tell us what the slag we're up against."

Alkali skipped a bit. "Whatever the plan is, it looks like it's centred around gestalts. Hnh. I've worked with them before, but not often. Can't stand them. Too blasted perfect."

"Ha. 'S what _you_ think," rumbled the designer. "How are you on their internal mechanics?"

"I know what chemistry goes on inside them and I've done research on emotional overflow theory. Other than that, just the basic idea. You?"

Steelcast spread her hands. "My practical experience is … well, let's say I've done a crash course on the psychology recently. After that, only what any tech knows."

"Ugh. I wouldn't be able to stand being in a gestalt," said Alkali. "I don't need anyone in my head and they all blend together after a while. They stop being able to experience new things, so they go stagnant."

Steelcast laughed. Alkali decided she didn't care what the joke was and returned her attention to the computer screen. The chemist tapped a few buttons, skimming the information. "Looks like Eidolon's supplied us with her research. That's good. Now we got a neutral's chance in the smelting pools to figure out what she wants … Oh, Spires. It's Monstructor."

"Who?"

"Ach – anyone would think you're the kept tech and I'm the traveller!"

"So I avoid the war. Just tell me about him."

"All right, all right," said Alkali. "He's one of the few true six-binders. He's a rogue – he doesn't show up often, but when he does, he kills everyone on the battlefield, including Decepticons. No one's really sure who his components are because if someone's close enough to see him combine, they're dead. Of course there've been a few survivors, but since they're generally mind-shattered babbling messes, that doesn't help much."

"Oh, goody. And Eidolon's trying to catch him."

"Sounds like it … oh, _Spires_."

Steelcast moved to look over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"There's a detailed study of a combiner's mergetech and energy fields," said Alkali. "She's _already_ caught him, she's just keeping him in his component members."

_To be continued ..._


	2. Chapter 2

**But Fear Itself  
Chapter Two **

She wasn't much for art. Eidolon studied it in a detached way, interested in the way it evoked emotion but utterly bored by art for the sake of art. She liked practical applications. Chemical emotive sculpting she liked, and there were some artists who were doing interesting things with certain bands of radiation, but generally she only paid minimal attention to it. She did own one sculpture though, and it sat on a low pedestal in its own storeroom.

As a class, Monitors were realists, having no interest isted in most of his research, and had kept his records after she killed him. It wasn't her area of interest, but it made for fascinating reading. It was through Wardword's notes that she learned of Monstructor, a renegade Decepticon gestalt with powers that science couldn't explain. Most of the early records of him and his components had been systematically destroyed, as if someone tried to erase him from the public consciousness, but mysteries were even more intriguing. Eidolon managed to find which gestalt team formed him, then proceeded to scrounge every bit of information she could find on them. Most were nobodies, generic Decepticon cannon fodder that wouldn't get a second glance, but one turned out to be radword's notes that she learned of Monstructor, a renegade Decepticon gestalt with powers that science couldn't explain. Most of the early records of him and his components had been systematically destroyed, as if someone tried to erase him from the public consciousness, but mysteries were even more intriguing. Eidolon managed to find which gestalt team formed him, then proceeded to scrounge every bit of information she could find on them. Most were nobodies, generic Decepticon cannon fodder that wouldn't get a second glance, but one turned out to be rather the celebrity.

Eidolon walked around the sculpture slowly. She had bought it at Slog's last exhibition, and while it was the dead body-shell of an Autobot, it wasn't rendered in Slog's usual style. He was best known for cyberbiotic deconstructionalism – known well enough that it was generally called 'slogism' – which involved ripping up a Transformer into an abstract, but this one hadn't been damaged at all. It was still a monument to the horrors of war, however – his pet subject.

Slog had tried to convince her to choose something more representational of his work, but Eidolon had eventually gotten her way. She had even managed not to laugh at the 'more representational of his work' line – she knew Slog hadn't killed this one at all. This was Monstructor's work.

As such, she had taken it back to the Nyxmount and performed every scan she could think of on it. They told her nothing more than what she already knew – the victim had died of fright.

With a thought, she tapped into the Nyxmount's systems, then sought out the work bay where she kept the Pretender Monsters. This time, she only activated one, tapping directly into his systems. "Wildfly."

Wildfly chuckled. _:Finally got sick of the others, eh?.:  
_

"You seemed to be the one most inclined to assist me," said Eidolon.

_:Oh, yeah. Power like **him** shouldn't be contained. 'S just not right.:  
_

None of them ever said his name, Eidolon had noticed. Not even Wildfly. "Where does Monstructor's power come from?" she asked, and felt the warrior mentally cringe when she spoke the name.

_:Dunno, Eidie. We weren't built with it.:_

They hadn't been built with _anything_ – the Pretender Monsters were a collected gestalt rather than a created one, compiled by Megadeath because he would rather have one large warrior than six half-size ones. Eidolon kept her irritation to herself. Wildfly was unintelligent and uncouth, but there was a better chance of getting information out of him than out of his comrades. It was true that Monitors could read minds, but only dead ones, and Eidolon needed the Pretender Monsters alive. "Where did it come from, then?"

_:Dunno. Can't explain it: _said Wildfly._ :'Bout eight million years ago we were him one day and BAM! Next thing we know we're separate and have no idea where the last four days went. Then the next time we merged, **he** was there. Slaughtered every 'Bot on the field and most of the 'Cons, 'cept we freaked and unbound.:  
_

"What was he before?"

_:Typical gestalt. "Me smash Autobots!" an' all that.:_ There was a pause, almost thoughtful. _:We don't touch in his mind any more. We can't. We never really merged, not completely – we were an experimental – but it's completely gone now.:  
_

Eidolon's research told her Monstructor had been an experiment in partial-merging – traits taken from each component to create one unified mind rather than six voices fighting. It hadn't worked. "What happens to your minds when he is active?"

_:Oh, we're all still aware, lookin' through his optics, feelin' him do stuff and not being able to control it at all. We can talk to each other and feel each other there. Usually Slog and Icepick and them are screamin' at each other, tryin' to get control and unbind him.:  
_

"Oh?"

_:He's been gettin' stronger. There's less time between his manifestations, and it keeps gettin' harder and harder to unbind.:  
_

"And you like that."

_:I **like** that. I **like** livin' through him. Ain't no way I can cause that much destruction on my own. The others are all too scared to enjoy it.:  
_

Eidolon nodded. "They do not like to think that such darkness lurks within themselves."

_:Ha! I wish. No, they've been tellin' the truth – he's not us. He's something else from somewhere else. Slog could write a slotting sonnet cycle on him … and I mean that literally. He's death, Eidie.:  
_

When Eidolon didn't immediately respond, Wildfly filled the silence: _:Eidie? You never said what you're going to do with him.:  
_

"True." Eidolon cut the connection, putting the warrior back into stasis. _All in good time._ Monstructor was practically the living embodiment of terror. If Eidolon controlled the fear, she would never need to be afraid again.

* * *

The workshop door opened. Alkali glanced up, expecting Memory, and found half her senses struck by the gray bulk that was pushed into the room. "Oh, _yes_!" 

She ran over to help pull it in, Steelcast following. "You got a trailer?"

"That's me." The chemist transformed to her truck-cab mode and felt the hitches settle into place. Alkali sighed; she was complete again. She pulled the trailer to a spot off to the side of the workshop, and with some reluctance, returned to her robot mode. After a moment, Alkali decided there was enough space and unfolded her trailer.

Steelcast laughed suddenly. "You turn into a _bar_? 'Li, I _love_ you!"

"Ach! You should know better than that, dabbler!"

"And a chemical emotive sculptor should recognise exaggeration," Steelcast teased. "Got anything special in there?"

"No, but I've got my lab back, so I don't need to keep messing with the house equipment." Alkali stroked the top of her bar fondly, then, suddenly self-conscious, took her hand back. "I wonder if she's watching us."

The designer shrugged. "Probably not. She's got a whole Sector to look after." Then, louder: "Eidolon is a big, lazy slab who's too dumb to know what 'hire' means."

Alkali had time to flinch before the walls attacked.

"By Darkmount, you're stupid!" yelled Alkali when the radiation levels had died enough that she regained enough control to speak again. "You know backtalk is going to get you zapped."

"Look, I think we both know she's going to kill us anyway," Steelcast snapped. "If I'm going to die, I'm slagging well going to deserve it!"

"Ach, I know that, but maybe I want to spend my last days as pain-free as possible. It's an area effect – I get hit when you get punished. Besides, Eidolon's radiation might cause permanent damage. I'll need to study it more to be sure."

Steelcast got to her feet. "Fine. No more baiting the boss." She stalked over to a supply cupboard and started rooting through it.

Alkali picked herself up, sat at the worktable, and poked at her drafting datapad. "You bait a high-ranking Decepticon who holds your life in her hands. You could take a swim in a smelting pool. You get into brawls for fun. You admitted you were a hobbyist to an artist." Alkali shook her head. "I don't see how Eidolon's power can reach you."

Steelcast shrugged without looking back. "Everyone's scared of _something_."

"Yeah? It's obviously not a slow and painful death!"

"Like I'd tell _you_," said Steelcast, but without real malice.

"Keep your secrets. I just won't tell you mine," Alkali retorted. Not that Alkali had any intention of admitting her own fears, but Steelcast was drawing boundaries, and Alkali appreciated that. It meant that the designer still thought they had a chance of making it out of this alive. If Steelcast expected to die, she would be more open because nothing she said could matter, or at least she seemed to be that type. Instead she remained optimistic, and it gave Alkali hope.

The door opened again, this time framing Memory, but the Actionmaster didn't step into the workshop. Two large figures hung behind her in the shadows of the corridor. "If you two are done bickering, the Monitor asks your attendance."

The technicians shrugged and followed her, each to their own thoughts. Steelcast trailed one hand along the wall, but Alkali found their escorts more interesting than the building. The two hulking robots with Memory weren't warriors, but guardian drones. Alkali was somewhat annoyed that she didn't rate real warriors. Still, even one guardian drone would be a difficult fight. And then, even if they defeated the drones, they were still in a watchtower. Now was not a good time to try to escape.

Alkali expected to be taken up to the command centre, but Memory and the drones led them down three levels to a laboratory instead. Memory opened the door, ushering the technicians in while leaving the drones in the hall.

The aura of terror and stench of corrosion grew stronger, and Alkali finally saw her captor.

Eidolon was tall. While Monitors as a class tended to be tall, Eidolon was taller still. She was a blade-tank – a type of heavily-armoured combat vehicle that tended to be on the front lines, scything through ground-based troops. Two large blades swept off her back like wings, two more adorned her thighs. A spike folded back into her chest. Two bent panels of her tank's armour added another pair of wings on her lower back. Her lower legs and upper arms were treads, adding even more bulk. Even her helm was sharp; four blades framed her masked face. She was three shades of gray, all dead, causing her sigil to stand out in sharp relief on her chest, and her optics burned like an energon furnace. Her energy fields shone brightly, almost rudely, overpowering the ambient fields of the watchtower. Her body gave off a low-level radiation designed to cause fear in any who experienced it – that was what permeated the watchtower and had been concentrated into punishments. It was easily the most pretentious body Alkali had ever seen.

Alkali drew a bit closer to Steelcast, as if out of fear, but it was only to gain field-contact. _She's overcompensating,_ Alkali sent, and felt the other's answering amusement. Then: "You summoned us, Lord Councillor?" she asked before Steelcast could say something they would both regret. If nothing else, Alkali knew how to play up a boss.

"I did," said Eidolon. "I have brought you here so that you may see what you are up against."

Memory had gone to a console. She tapped a button, and the large cylinder in the centre of the room retracted into the floor. Six Decepticons hung there in a circle, facing out; suspended by their wrists, secured by their ankles, with inhibitor claws dug into their chests. Various wires and cables trailed into their bodies, while arachnid medicroids perched in the tangle of machinery above. One Decepticon on the side away from Alkali spat a couple swear words at Eidolon, but for the most part they hung quietly, radiating hostility.

Alkali gasped, not in horror but in recognition of one of the warriors. Anyone who knew anything about art knew him, and she felt Steelcast stiffen beside her as the identification set in. He looked like nothing special: like his fellows, he was a small, blocky, generic-looking thing with no easily identifiable alt-mode. This one was shorter and broader than the others; the same mass in a stockier body. His colours had been gold and bronze once, but now they were faded and muddy – colours that spoke of modesty and resignation. He looked like any throwaway warrior, but Alkali knew those heavy hands were more delicate than an engineer's and the mind behind the yellow visor was one of the most creative on the planet. This was Slog, one of the greatest artists ever produced by Cybertron.

"These are the Pretender Monsters," said Eidolon, breaking the chemist's train of thought. "Alkali, you will observe."

"What should I look for?"

"Observe as you are trained to observe. I shall be too occupied to do so."

Watch like a chemical emotive sculptor, then. Observe everyone's feelings like she was going to try to duplicate them later. Maybe that was what Eidolon wanted her to do. It was one thing to record reactions, but it took years of training to be able to take apart the information and distil the conditions in a bottle.

"What are you doing?" Steelcast asked Eidolon.

"At this time, it would be dangerous to let them assume their combined form," said Eidolon. "I wish to see what happens if only their minds are merged. Memory – activate the machine."

"Do not. You know not …" Slog began, but the words were lost in his scream of protest.

Terror flooded the room like a thick liquid, pouring from the six combiners and drowning the observers. It wasn't chemicals or radiation or energy – just fear.

_"We are … I am … I am Monstructor."_

Without a combined body, all six of the warriors spoke as one, but Alkali was certain she heard a seventh voice layered in – a hollow whisper that couldn't be heard, only remembered after the fact.

Eidolon had told her to observe, so she would observe. The Monitor stood tall before the gestalt warriors and her voice didn't waver, but her energy fields showed she felt the same fear that Alkali did. Memory stood by the controls, and if she felt anything, none of it showed in any way. Steelcast seemed frozen; with nothing to focus on, the irrational terror gripped her the worst. Of the combiners, Alkali could see only three of their faces – Slog, the scarlet and teal one on his left, and the winged one on his right. There was no change in the glow of their optics, but Alkali knew that they could no longer see – something else was using their sight. Slog's fields showed defiance, the scarlet and teal one radiated terror, but the winged one's face was a mask of ecstasy. With effort, she pulled herself from her spot to see the faces of the others.

Most of her sensors were focused on the Pretender Monsters, but not her hearing. Alkali could still easily listen to Eidolon and the voice of the combiners: _"Set me free."_

"No. You will be my weapon."

_"I will be your weapon. I will give you power undreamed of. Set me free."_

"How do I duplicate your powers?"

_"Impossible, but no need. Set me free. I will be your weapon."_

"Where do you go when they unbind?"

_"Nowhere. Set me free."_

Her strongest energy sensors were in her hands and antennae. Alkali reached out to the closest warrior – Scowl, the only other one she could name because he was also active in the artistic community – and froze as the full force of the terror aura gripped her. The energy field of the Pretender Monsters reacted as if it was a living thing, digging intangible claws into her own aura and trying to rip it from her body …

Large hands caught Alkali by her waist and hauled her away from the warriors. "Now who's the stupid bootleg?" Steelcast hissed. "Gonna let a bunch of runts spook you?"

Anger shoved the fear aside. Alkali elbowed the designer away and returned to her scans, though she made sure to keep her distance. She also set one array to focus on Eidolon. If the Monitor noticed the little scene with Steelcast, she gave no indication. _She wasn't kidding when she said she'd be too occupied to do anything else …_

"What _are_ you?"

_"I will be your weapon. Set me free."_

"This is futile," snapped Eidolon, her bravado beginning to crack. "Memory, cut the link."

_"Set me –"_

Memory turned off the machine and the six Decepticons sagged in their bonds; most from relief, all from mental exhaustion. Steelcast staggered, but held her feet, and even Eidolon relaxed slightly. She turned to Alkali. "Briefly – your observations."

"Steelcast was terrified, as were five of the warriors. One was enjoying it. The others were fighting to various degrees. Memory was unaffected." She left out Eidolon's reaction on purpose – Eidolon certainly knew her own mind and wouldn't appreciate being publicly told she was afraid.

Eidolon nodded. "Compile a detailed report. Memory, escort the technicians back to their bay."

* * *

Neither had spoken since they left the laboratory. Steelcast had activated the computer, though she wasn't really concentrating on reading – she kept calling up the notes on combinertech and getting annoyed at herself for doing so. Alkali was at the other end of the table, plugged into a portable recorder, likely compiling the report Eidolon wanted, though it didn't seem like it was going quickly. 

Before Steelcast could speak just to break the silence, Alkali said, "Nice trick, getting me to stop panicking."

Alkali wasn't angry. Good. Steelcast chuckled. "Hey, if there's one thing I can do, it's get people mad at me."

"Some special ability." Alkali fiddled with the recorder for a moment, then, "I might be able to make a weapon to get us out of here."

Eidolon might be watching, though more likely she was correlating the data she pulled from the Pretender Monsters' mind-merge. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. If I could get something really nasty together, the next time Eidolon calls us up, I can dose her and maybe we can get out before she rallies."

"That'd work if we could get out of the _Sector_ before she recovers."

"Oh. Right."

Steelcast shook her head. "Got anything strong in your trailer?"

The chemist waved a finger at her. "Hey, not on shift."

"Meant it for _you_, anyway – you got the worst of the spook-field and you're still dizzy from it. 'Course, if you don't mind sharing …"

"You mooch like an empty." But she got up and went to her trailer anyway.

Alkali seemed to relax a bit as she put the drinks together, not that Steelcast let her attention drift from the process. Liking a fellow tech and trusting a drink mixed by a chemical emotive sculptor were two entirely different things.

After a few minutes of work, Alkali pushed a small cube at Steelcast and assumed the pose of a bored, late-shift bartender. Steelcast took the cube, but didn't drink it. "If this has never been your primary, I've just lost a bet with myself."

"I ran an oil house on the outskirts of Betacron for a couple centuries, during one of the lulls." Alkali took a sip of her cube. "Bartending was never my primary, just a useful skill and a way to fill time."

As well as a way to gather materials and test new chemicals, Steelcast knew. The cube might still be poisoned with something Alkali was immune to, but paranoia wasn't one of Steelcast's strong points. She risked the drink, jabbing her siphon into it. After a sample of the mixture, Steelcast decided that even if Alkali was trying to kill her, it would be an excellent way to go. It wasn't doped to be calming or enjoyable, it was just a first-class drink. Steelcast tapped the cube lightly. "You're _good_."

"Thanks." Alkali took another sip from hers, then, "How long you been solo?"

"Most of my life. I've gotten used to it." Steelcast shrugged. "I like that I can find my trinemate if I need him, but generally I don't need him."

"You _like_ being a lone tech?"

Steelcast couldn't tell what emotion was behind the statement, so she took the statement by itself. "I'm usually working with a group, but I haven't had one to call my own since our first died."

Alkali nodded, her expression neutral. She changed the subject: "Think we've got any chance of getting out of this?"

"Ha. Of course. I don't plan on getting killed by some dumb administrator, even if she is covered in spikes."

"Oh, right. Got it all planned out, eh?"

"Yep." Steelcast picked up her now-empty cube and gestured with it. "If I'm going to die, it's going to be because I was drunk out of my mind and picked a fight with an elite warrior three times my size."

* * *

Memory returned to find Eidolon perched in a chair, silently regarding the Pretender Monsters, who sullenly regarded her back. Eidolon didn't bother looking over. "We are finished for today. Put them back in stasis." 

The Actionmaster walked over to the controls and reactivated the stasis without so much as a glance at the prisoners. The cylinder rose to the ceiling again, and she turned to the Monitor for further orders.

Eidolon waved her over. "You felt nothing?" she asked. "Could you hear the seventh voice? What did you see in the optics of the Pretender Monsters?"

Memory nodded curtly. "I felt nothing. There were only six voices. Their optics seemed unfocused, seeing nothing, but nothing stranger than that."

Eidolon's optics darkened. "Excellent. That means his power touches the soul itself. There can be no defence against it."

"Unless you are as I am."

"Remember his other weapons, Memory. If I can harness the powers of Monstructor, this world will be mine. Compile the data from this experiment. Send a copy to my computers and one to the technicians."

Inwardly, Memory shrugged. Everyone seemed to want to rule the world, but she would bet none of them would have any idea what to do with it if they had it. She left to attend her tasks.

* * *

She had to admit it – she had needed that drink. Calmed and recharged, Alkali could focus on her report, recalling her impressions clearly without the leftover fear muddling things up. Steelcast was alternating her attention between the research on the computer and the drafting datapad, but she didn't seem to be using the drafting pad for anything more than rough sketches. 

The door opened, admitting Memory. The Actionmaster crossed the room and set a datadisc on the table. "The basic information gathered from today's experiment," she explained. "Are you finished with your report, Alkali?"

"Ach, take off. The Monitor wanted me to put it together _my_ way. You can't rush the artistic process."

Memory accepted the explanation without fuss. "Are there any further supplies you require?"

The watchtower was well-stocked with ordinary materials, but this was an unusual assignment that took unusual materials. "Yeah," said Steelcast. "We want fifty kilos each of ruthenium and cobalt, and two tonnes of iridium – _pure_ iridium. And bring us some dead people. Nice, clean, recent kills, too."

Memory gave her a blank look. "What?"

"We want body-shells," Alkali repeated, leaning back in her chair to poke the Actionmaster in the chest. "Free of rust or corrosion. Ones with heavy armour. Tank-formers would be good."

"I will consult with the Monitor."

* * *

Eidolon didn't laugh often. She laughed when Memory gave her the equipment request list. 

"Perhaps other technicians should have been found," said Memory. "Solo ones of their skill-level are difficult to find, true, but it might be worth it to find ones with more practical ideas."

Eidolon chuckled. "No, this is _good_. I wished for creative technicians, and I have them."

* * *

They had been given a challenge, no instruction how to solve the problem, and any supplies they asked for. Eidolon was a boss who knew what she wanted, understood tech-talk, and was actively helpful. If they weren't so certain Eidolon would kill them as soon as she was finished with them, it could have been a dream assignment. 

Eidolon was _very_ good at getting them the materials or information they requested. Twice she demanded explanations for items, and both times the item in question had been added to the list as a test to see if Eidolon would bring them something that didn't actually have any bearing on the project. Alkali and Steelcast didn't risk testing her again, and stuck with only requesting things they thought they needed. These things included various materials and chemicals, as well as a few esoteric essays on mythology and information on some of the more unusual tenets of the martial art Circuit-Su.

Body-shells were easy enough to come by; there was always fighting going on. Guided by Memory, two large loader drones dropped off three dead warriors – two Autobots and a Decepticon. Steelcast wondered briefly if she was supposed to feel bad about it, and decided it didn't matter. He might have been a Decepticon, but he wasn't using his shell for anything any more. He would be recycled, albeit in an unconventional way. Memory and the loader drones left, leaving Steelcast and Alkali to inspect their new acquisitions.

Steelcast poked the Decepticon shell with her crowbar. "You've got better sensors than me, 'Li. You ever detect anyone in this place other than everyone we've seen?"

Alkali prodded at a laser burn on an Autobot's carapace. "Just a few flickers, but I'm not surprised. The whole place smells like Eidolon. That could be drowning everything else out. Or they've got really good shielding. You'd need it here. Eidolon's radiation permeates everything, and long-term exposure would have nasty effects."

"How long's 'long term'?"

"Ach, years. We don't need to worry about it."

"Unless Eidolon decides to keep us. Ha, maybe she's just lonely – all we've seen aside from Eidolon and Memory are drones. Monitors need subordinates. The watchtowers don't take care of themselves and even a Monitor needs to rest every so often," Steelcast said. "I know Memory said that drones do the basic maintenance, but even then they need to be told what to do. There's no warriors around, either. Every Monitor I've met has at least one bodyguard."

"Pft. Some Decepticons have no self-respect. Hand me the crowbar."

Steelcast passed it to her. "It breaks pattern is all. Memory can't be the entire staff."

Alkali wedged the end of the crowbar in the shell's armour seam, and in a couple minutes levered its chestplate open. "There's something weird about Memory."

"Yeah?"

"Her fields are wrong," said Alkali. "I touched her to make sure, but I can't detect a spark."

The designer took her crowbar back. "Maybe she's just really damped. Y'know, to keep Eidolon's radiations out."

"Yeah, probably."

* * *

She had called the pieces of Monstructor in packetspace dead metal in the void. Monitors could tap into computer systems, but not into living minds. However, they could tap into _dead_ minds. 

There didn't seem to be a central processing relay in any of the Pretender Monsters, which raised the chances of it being in Monstructor's head. She couldn't draw information from any of the warriors because she needed them alive, but the Monstructor parts were dead.

Eidolon tapped a spot on the corridor wall that looked like every other spot, and a section of the wall withdrew. It opened into a small room, dark as the rest of the watchtower. In the centre was a pedestal a little lower than the height of a table, shaped like a cut-off cone so that the base was wider than the top. Two manipulator arms and a sensor cluster hung from the ceiling by it. On the floor, halfway between the doorway and the pedestal, was a silver panel, large enough to comfortably stand on.

She stepped on the panel. Seven cables dropped from the shadows of the ceiling; three attached to each arm, while the last plugged into the back of her neck. Eidolon turned her attention to the pedestal. At her command, a faint shimmer appeared in the air above it. Eidolon flexed her hands – now the manipulator arms and sensor cluster came to life, following her movements. Eidolon deactivated her optics and reached into the space between space.

The device had been created long ago, when Wardword was still the Monitor. He had wanted a device to see into what he called the 'Underspace', but it hadn't quite worked that way. Eidolon had kept the machine, abandoning its first purpose and attempting to adapt it to be able to steal items out of others' packet pockets, but Eidolon had never quite managed to get that part to work correctly. She could see – once she had caught the bright flash of a teleporter's jump – and knew that it wasn't wise to stay long. She could touch things in the spaces between, even if she couldn't remove them.

And whatever computer Eidolon could touch, she could tap into.

She had found the gestalt parts of Monstructor soon after she had captured the Pretender Monsters, analysing their packet folding energy signatures and tracing them to the point where they all crossed. Not that the manipulator arms could travel – rather, space moved around them. She followed the trail she had travelled a dozen times now, and found the head of the beast. The finger of one manipulator arm unsheathed a datatap needle, and stabbed into a connector cable trailing from Monstructor's neck.

With all the stories the Pretender Monsters had tried to fill her head with, Eidolon was rather expecting to encounter soul-choking horror when she tapped into Monstructor's processor. She was almost disappointed that it didn't happen. It was like touching any other dead mind. It was just a computer.

Delicately, she probed at the inert processor, searching for memories. She found the correct relay and sent a tendril of current along it, trying to access the gestalt's most recent memories. She saw …

_… She saw Cybertron, bright orange metal fading to blue as the war took its toll on the planetary power supplies. She saw a city in ruins, marked with the signs of battle. She saw heavy, gray hands swing loosely at the edge of vision as the body walked. She saw the scene shake suddenly, as if the body was struck in the back. She saw the world tilt as the body fell, and then she saw nothing._

In a type of cold fury, Eidolon probed deeper. There were more up-to-date records, but they were only tracks of the internal relays – the Pretender Monsters shrieking across the wires that bound them together, terrified of what was happening but utterly bewildered as to _why_ it was happening.

But the central processor hadn't been used in nearly eight million years. The most recent memory in the gestalt's mind was the attack before he changed.

* * *

_"Technicians."_

Automatically, Alkali looked up when Eidolon's voice came through the speaker. She couldn't figure out just where the speaker was, which annoyed her, so she simply chose a random point to look at and waited.

_"I have downloaded new information to the workshop's computer,"_ Eidolon continued. _"See if it is of practical use."_

On impulse, Alkali said, "Lord Eidolon?"

_"Yes?"_

"I may be able to get more information from the Pretender Monsters. Allow me to speak with Slog."

_"He will tell **you** what he will not tell **me**?"_

The chemist braced herself for punishment, but the radiation levels didn't change. "You know I'm an artist of some merit, Lord Councillor," said Alkali. "He may talk to me."

There was a pause, then: _"Very well. Should you think to help him escape, recall that you would need to be out of the Sector before I could not reach you, and recall that hunters are easily bought."_

"I plan no trickery, Lord Councillor."

_"I will send him to you."_

Alkali settled back in her chair to wait. She had known Slog was a Pretender. She had even known he was part of a gestalt, and it occurred to her that while she had seen a couple of his gestaltmates, she had never seen all of them together or known the name of their combined form. Slog never spoke of it, and, well, she wasn't anyone who could question Slog.

Slog arrived, accompanied by two guardian drones. Once the sculptor was inside the workshop, the drones withdrew and the door shut. Slog ambled over – there really wasn't a better word for it – and looked up at her. His height always threw Alkali off – the top of Slog's head barely reached her waist. The greatest sculptor on Cybertron really should have been taller. "Assumption – for me you asked?"

Eidolon would be listening. "I've always admired your work, Master Slog," Alkali gushed. "Back when I was a novice, I used to fantasize about teaming up with you, adding the chemical element to your visuals. Now that I'm more experienced, I know that it would just detract from us both." Alkali leaned down, touched Slog's hand, and hoped the Monitor would only see it as a gesture of hero-worship. She used the field-contact to send: _Where are your Shells?_

It was practically impossible to lie in field-contact, and Slog understood her intentions instantly. _Those she hid; our connection severed. Not destroyed – we would know,_ Slog replied. _If connection be regained, then freedom can be won. Freedom is imperative – misunderstood, she. Agreeing with her was our Other. Her weapon will set him free._ He took back his hand, but not before sending a radiation of amusement at the prattling for Eidolon's benefit. "Pleasing, always, to meet a fan. Sole reason, though, this cannot be."

It was play-acting on both sides – Alkali and Slog knew each other, but no need for Eidolon to know. To be honest, Alkali owed the sculptor a favour; Slog had pulled her out of a tight spot once. It didn't look like she could pay him back any time soon. She nodded and returned to business. "How were you caught?"

Slog hopped up onto the table to sit, and nearly doubled his height. "In Betacron were we. Hoped, I, it was deserted – hope dashed, an old friend so nearly killed." He shook his head. "Called us, Eidolon did, and we came. Expected no treachery; captured easily, us."

"What happened to the archive records about your group?"

"Destroyed. By us, mostly – to remain unknown, our hope, to avoid study. For higher clearance, destruction was bought." He chuckled. "Always can find an art-lover or one who desires a commission, I. Worked, though, it did not. Always is one who must pry."

"But maybe we _can_ help you. Eidolon wants us to design a defence against Mons –"

Slog's foot lashed out and kicked Alkali in the thigh. "Say not the name. Perhaps superstitious, yes, but perhaps saying his name may from whatever void draw his attention."

"Eidolon wants us to design a defence against him first," said Steelcast as Alkali bent down to check her leg. Slog had left a dent. "She wants you lot to merge so she can study him properly."

Slog shook his head. "She, then, will die. As well yourselves," he added regretfully.

"Ach, help us out then," said Alkali. "Eidolon's research is sketchy. What can we do to contain him?"

"From merging keep us."

"She's proven she can force it."

"Truth unfortunate," said Slog sadly, reaching out to stroke Alkali's hand. _Other way: if dead one of us, manifest he cannot._

_I can't kill you, Slog._ To destroy an artist of his skill would be like tearing out her own spark.

_No, cannot, you. Also, willingly I would not go._

_To be continued ..._


	3. Chapter 3

**But Fear Itself  
Chapter Three **

Slog had told the technicians nothing that he hadn't told her, which meant either that it was all he knew or that he was well aware that Eidolon would be watching. Still, it had been worth a try.

With the sculptor back in stasis, Eidolon could return her attention to her research. There had been … _something_. Some kind of signal had been generated when Eidolon had merged the minds of the Pretender Monsters. A slight ripple in their sparks that reached out and was answered. Was the power in their sparks? But, no, their sparks remained separate throughout the whole experiment. Even then, only the fear manifested. Monstructor's powers were greater than that …

She became aware of Memory, that bit of rust and brightness, as she usually did. Memory always waited as if she had been waiting for hours, though the scanner logs showed that Eidolon had noticed her within seconds of her arrival. "Well?"

"They want a basic field generator of at least beta-six quality, two hundred units each of anti-corrosives C2 through L17, sigma-band radiation shielding, and a matter compressor. They also want a list of mystic sigils to ward off death and decay, as well as all the information you have on sympathetic magic," said Memory wearily. "Their requests for supplies grow increasingly illogical. You know my limitations, Monitor. I cannot keep pace with Transformers."

"Do not attempt to understand their requests. Accept them and bring them to me." It was the main drawback of her assistant, as well as the reason for her resilience. Memory was not a Transformer, but a Deceptitraan computer who had become self-aware. The living computer had overpowered and replaced its handler and took her place. Eidolon quickly discovered the switch, but chose to keep the rogue. If nothing else, she had proved to be more ruthless and intelligent than the original Memory. However, a Deceptitraan was soulless. Memory was highly intelligent and could learn from experience, but she had no creativity whatsoever. She couldn't easily adapt to an unexpected situation, and people were nothing if not unpredictable. For those reasons, Memory craved a spark. "If I spark you, what hold do I have on you?"

On the other hand, without a spark or a jot of creativity, Memory was practically immune to Eidolon's aura. She couldn't feel deeply and her mind couldn't conjure horrors out of nothing, and so she had lasted for over two thousand years in close contact with the Monitor. Those few Transformers Eidolon kept on staff tended to break down after a few centuries.

"Your weapons would affect me," said Memory, though another might have said 'gratitude'. Memory thought lying was a waste of time, or it was just another example of her lack of creativity. "You would have the same holds on me you have on all of your people."

Eidolon scowled. "You have lasted this long under my command because you are sparkless. The rest are used up so quickly."

"I know this. I still want a spark."

"Where will I find another to replace you once you become a mind-shattered husk?"

Memory's mouth turned up, though the expression lacked both warmth and humour. "Ask your M-series Deceptitraans if any wish to become your assistant."

* * *

The speaker came to life again: _"Technicians, prepare. I have sent one of the Pretender Monsters to you for repairs."_

Alkali hoped it was Slog. She wanted to talk to him again, and if Eidolon had hurt him, it was going to make taking revenge that much more enjoyable. However, Eidolon sent the one that stank of rust instead. As it turned out, it was _because_ he stank of rust.

Steelcast looked down at the warrior and folded her arms, unimpressed. "If you cleaned yourself once in a while, you wouldn't have this problem."

"Eat slag and die, bootleg," Bristleback instructed. "It's a condition, not hygiene."

He had the worst case of rust rash that Alkali had ever seen off an empty. This looked like one of a half-dozen strains. "Which condition?"

"No fragging clue," he growled. "The others ain't got it, so it ain't contagious."

Alkali cut out a tiny bit of the warrior's armour with a laser scalpel, then put the sample in her mouth. After a minute, she spat it out again. "Whoever built you did it cheap," she said. "You're built out of the normal alloys of your time, but completely untreated against any type of rust or corrosives."

Steelcast had produced a scanner from somewhere, and glanced up from it. "Ugh, your internals have the same problem, just that since they're not exposed, they don't develop the same problems."

"You don't need repairs," said Alkali, "you need to stick your processor in a new body."

"Dumb glitch – you think I ain't tried? _He_ won't let me."

"What? Not even an exact duplicate?" asked Alkali.

"_Is everyone on Cybertron this stupid?_" Bristleback yelled. "Like we've been telling Lord Spiky upstairs, whatever we got _can't_ be duplicated."

There was a loud _clang_ as a crowbar struck the table. "You wanna get patched or do you want your vocaliser melted?" asked Steelcast.

Bristleback snarled at her. "You wanna shut up and do your job?"

"I'm an independent contractor. Means I'm generally my own boss." Steelcast readied the crowbar again. "Means I got a _lot_ of leeway on what my job is."

"Bring it, trinket."

Steelcast swung at him, but Bristleback caught the crowbar and yanked. This had the desired effect of pulling Steelcast off balance, but had the undesired effect of her falling on him. Between her size and the materials she was made from, she probably weighed four times what he did. She drew back a fist to flatten his face, but Bristleback turned out to be stronger than he looked, and threw her off.

The designer regained her feet quickly and the two combatants threw themselves at each other again. They never made it – Eidolon had been watching.

Once the radiation died down and they were again in control of themselves, they got up without a word. Bristleback sullenly settled into a chair and the techs got their cleaning supplies.

Scraping a patch of rust off the warrior's arm, Alkali said, "You don't have an internal repair system, do you?"

"Nah. Like you said – I was built cheap," said Bristleback. "And, no, I can't get one installed. He won't let us."

"Seems to let you use your Shell," said Steelcast.

"We already had the Shells when he showed up. I guess that makes 'em acceptable to him." Bristleback slouched lower in his sulk. "I need my Shell, but the wirepuller upstairs don't want us in 'em. I hate the thing, but it keeps me repaired."

After he had been cleaned and repaired, Bristleback left, escorted by the guardian drones. "Steelcast?" said Alkali.

"Yeah, 'Li?"

"You are the _worst_ fighter I've ever seen."

Steelcast chuckled. "You don't get out enough, then."

"Why do you keep challenging people?" Alkali demanded. "How often are you actually right when you call someone out?"

"I've got about an eighty-five percent success rate on telling when people are bluffing," said Steelcast.

"And then you beat them up."

Steelcast looked embarrassed. "Actually, my success rate in _winning_ fights is more like forty percent …"

Alkali stared at her in disbelief. "How are you not dead?"

"'Cause the kinds of slabs I tend to take on are the 'I will leave you alive so that you may live in your disgrace' kind," the designer explained. "Except I don't hang any personal honour on fighting and just because someone can beat me in a brawl doesn't make me scared of 'em. I like to think they get a little voice in their head saying, 'What if the next one who calls slag on me is actually a good fighter?' afterwards."

"You're an idiot."

"I've got an irrational hatred for braggarts and I _have_ been trying to work on controlling my temper. Besides, Bristleback was practically begging for it." Steelcast looked down at herself. "Rivets. The lousy runt left dents."

Alkali snorted. "Ach, you got them, you beat them out yourself."

* * *

Eventually, her clever little techs ran out of ideas, but not before they had come up with some reasonably impressive defences. 

This was a much larger room, big enough for an average gestalt warrior to stand comfortably, deep underground. It was likely too large, really – if the size of the Pretender Monsters and the dead combiner connectors in the packets were any indication, Monstructor would be small for a gestalt. In the walls were hundreds of sensors, designed to scan deeply and instantly transmit the information to a safe place even deeper in the Nyxmount. There were the shackles made of an alloy of compressed body-shells of dead Transformers. Their strength was incredible. Eidolon was certain they would hold, if nothing else worked. The technicians weren't so sure about the anti-corrosives they'd sprayed around the place or the shielding that would hopefully stop an energy drain.

Eidolon wasn't in the room, of course – only the Pretender Monsters were. Eidolon, Memory, and the two technicians were in an observatory two levels higher. There were no guardian drones – they would have made the observatory rather crowded – but Eidolon wanted the technicians there. If they tried anything, her own radiations and the security system would suffice.

Eidolon tapped a button. "Prepare to merge."

_"Always does our Other hunger,"_ Slog hissed. _"You, then, will feed him."_

"Disobey and be struck down where you stand."

The warriors glanced at each other, as if seriously considering that prospect. After a moment, Slog slumped and Wildfly grinned up at the nearest camera. Eidolon double-checked the board, then nodded. "Now."

Eidolon watched the merge through every sense and scanner at her disposal, paying extra attention to the gestalt connections, and she found something that had been missing. The parts didn't merely come together, but shifted internally in ways she had never suspected and seemed to serve no practical purpose. There _was_ a pattern to it, something she had seen once but couldn't quite remember now. She would cross-reference it with Wardword's research later. _Now_ her spark was filling with terror, pushing everything else aside. There was no defence against a fear that struck at the soul.

There was a universe of difference between the mind-only merge and the true gestalt. Eidolon had thought she had known the fear of Monstructor before, and had congratulated herself for weathering the assault so well. It hadn't prepared her for the full force of the combiner's aura. Her own aura of dread increased with her own fear, but did nothing to counteract Monstructor's power.

Large work drones slapped the restraints on Monstructor as the merge completed. The technicians hadn't taken any chances that might have added life to the chains.

For a long moment, Monstructor stood still, looking down at a spot on the floor. Energies poured from the mismatched form on too many wavelengths to immediately sort. His pose had the appearance of gathering his power, though from where, Eidolon wasn't sure. There was no life within his range, just the two drones …

The chains and their moorings held. The technicians had done well. Unfortunately, the metal of the floor and walls grew brittle and tore. The drones moved to restrain the combiner, but were swept away with a swing of a chain.

The watchtower itself – Eidolon cursed herself for overlooking the possibility. It was almost a living thing; time had made it practically an extension of her own body. Monstructor's power could affect it as it could a Transformer.

Monstructor idly tore open one of the work drones and crushed the other. Eidolon was dimly aware that Memory and the technicians had bolted, but they weren't important, not now.

Terror had shut down her mind; Eidolon worked as if in a trance, reverting to her basic programming. She kept the scanners trained on the gestalt, determined to draw all the information she could from him. Even when he lifted off the floor and began to tear into the ceiling, she didn't think to move.

The floor ruptured and she fell, recovering from her numbness in time to land instead of crash. However, she was knocked off her feet when the deck shook with the force of Monstructor's own landing. She was inside the room of sensors, inside the fields and carefully-crafted defences, at the full mercy of Monstructor's power. Nanites died by the millions on her outer armour and she increased power to her internal repair systems to replace them. It might take longer for his life-draining aura to penetrate if it had to cut through nanites first.

She looked up at the gestalt, chains still trailing from his wrists and ankles, and realised she had made a terrible mistake.

**"Set me free,"** he said, and this time the voice wasn't just in her head. It was as hollow and booming as a great bell stuck underwater, cold and dead as the space between stars.

"Unbind!" Eidolon shouted. "As your superior officer, I command you to return to your component parts!"

Monstructor laughed. Eidolon unsheathed datatap spines from her gauntlets. "No gestalt warrior has ever been a match for a Monitor," she reminded him, struggling to her feet. "I will force your unbinding."

The gestalt reached death-gray hands towards her. **"Come for me, then."**

Now that she was standing, Eidolon realised that Monstructor wasn't actually much larger than she was. Still, despite her form, Eidolon was no warrior. Terror and a desperate urge for survival lent her strength. If she could penetrate his armour, if her datataps could reach his systems, she could disrupt the combinertech and cause the gestalt to fall apart. She flung herself at him with a screech, aiming for his neck. The armour was thinner there and the control systems close to the surface …

Faster than a gestalt should move, he made to grab her wrist. Her arm hit his palm and she screamed as pain burned through her. Eidolon flung herself from the gestalt before he could close his hand around her. Where her plating had touched his, it was corroded. Not rusted – corroded, as if those parts of her had lain in a sewer for the last two million years. She hadn't anticipated his powers of decay to act so quickly.

She landed in a pile on the deck. The armour of her right arm flaked and crumbled as she moved, and her hand was nearly useless. The internal systems of her arm were undamaged at least. She had moved fast enough for that.

He held out his hand again. **"Come, little Monitor. Touch your mind to mine."**

"I can't. You destroyed my datataps." Even as she said it, Eidolon cursed herself for sounding so weak.

**"You have others. Use them. Set me free."**

**

* * *

**

They stopped running after a minute because the watchtower lurched and shuddered, throwing them off-balance. Steelcast put Memory down, and the computer technician glared. "I am immune to Monstructor's fear. Eidolon will need me."

"We need you more," said Alkali. "Where did she put their Pretender Shells?"

Memory frowned. "What good will they do? The Pretender Monsters are in gestalt-mode now – they can't control their Shells remotely while engaged."

"We'll rig up some kind of control ourselves, then," said Steelcast, transforming. "Get going."

Alkali transformed to her truck-mode as well, while Memory flew in the lead. "Are there any real guards in this place?" asked the chemist.

"Some," said Memory.

"After we find the Shells, go point them at Monstructor … no, he'll just drain them," Alkali corrected. "Tell them to stay away."

"Think he's draining the building's power?" asked Steelcast. "The way he ripped through the walls, a watchtower might be alive enough for him to use."

"Oh, Spires, probably."

A few levels down, Memory stopped in front of a heavy door and keyed in the code. "They're here, for all the good they'll do."

All six were there, though Alkali only knew Slog's and Scowl's. Bristleback was probably the one with the spines, and certainly Wildfly and Birdbrain would be the winged ones, but which Shell was the bird? Which meant Icepick was the rocky-looking one …

She'd figure it out later. "We'll wake them up," she told Memory. "Go black out the watchtower."

"The other Monitors will know that the watchtower is unguarded if I do that!" Memory protested.

"If the computer's off, they can't get in," said Steelcast. "Get going."

Memory fled. Alkali and Steelcast set about deactivating the stasis. A few minutes of work, and power returned to the Shells. They were ready to go, except that they were mindless.

"Good, good," burbled a voice, surprising both technicians.

Now that they were under their masters' control, she could tell which Shell belonged to whom. Alkali stared at Slog's rubbery red Shell. "You can control your Shells even while merged?"

"Not part of him, us, and distracted is he," said Slog's Shell. The voice was identifiable as his, but thicker and wet.

Drawn by their masters, the six Shells took off at a run, which was little more than a jog to Alkali and Steelcast. Both transformed to follow anyway. Alkali caught up to the sculptor. "What's the rush? Let him kill Eidolon."

"No interest has he in her death," rumbled the sculptor. "Feel his mind, us. For now he plays. Wishes he to possess her."

"He's not us. He's something separate," Icepick added, his Shell the rocky, blue on bronze claw-creature. "If he downloads himself into Eidolon, he can use her Monitor abilities. He'll be able to permeate the Sector – Cybertron, given time – with his energy field."

"He'll conquer the planet," said Alkali.

Bristleback snorted. "'Conquer', nothing. Dumb ornament – you think he just wants to take over?"

"Cares he not for conquest. Lives he only to destroy. His aura kills – remember, Alkali."

"If he becomes Cybertron, all life on Cybertron dies," Birdbrain finished.

"Pretty neat, eh?" asked Wildfly. "C'mon, let's go help him. He's actually got a good shot at it this time!"

Bristleback bit the gargoyle on the wing. "Stop being so stupid! You'll die too, moron!"

Wildfly danced away. "It's all for a good cause – the death of _everything_!"

"Time for this we lack!" shouted Slog.

"We'll take him," Alkali offered. "Go!"

The rest of the Pretender Monsters continued on their way. Wildfly obligingly waited, inspecting his talons. "I'm only lettin' this happen 'cause they can't stop him and there ain't no way you techies can beat me."

"Enh, we're techs. We like to test things." Steelcast's engine revved once, then several tonnes of crucible-hauler smashed into the Shell. She scooted backwards, turned, and tore off down a hall.

Alkali raced after her. "You trying to get killed?"

"Can't die now. I'm not drunk and he's too small. C'mon – at least we can lead him away from the others."

"That's all _you_ can do, anyway." Alkali transformed, turning and drawing a vial from her packet pocket as she did. She threw it, and it shattered against the Shell's nose. She returned to truck-mode and took off after Steelcast again.

"What'd you hit him with?"

"Distilled essence of Icepick's fear during the mind-merge. If nothing else, it'll confuse him, if it works on remote-controlled Pretender Shells at all."

"You don't _know_ if it'll work?"

"I've never had a chance to play with Shells before. When I made it, I expected we'd have to fight past ordinary guards!"

* * *

Their progress was hampered by the fact that while they knew where they wanted to be, they didn't know the layout of the watchtower. They solved this problem by simply tearing through a few walls, and soon the five Shells were peeking through one of the holes torn by Monstructor. 

Eidolon was crouched back against a wall, while Monstructor stood over her. Birdbrain glanced over at Slog. "Why is he just _standing_ there?"

Slog's Shell frowned in concentration, then chuckled. "Corrosion-field ever-present. Cannot take without contact, cannot contact without damage."

"He's just going to put up with a damaged vessel in a minute," Scowl pointed out. "We need to attack _now_."

"We're gonna hurt in the morning," grumbled Bristleback.

"You never liked your body anyway," said Birdbrain.

"Point."

"Aim for the joints," said Icepick. "Maybe removing his limbs will force the unbinding."

Birdbrain stared at him. "Are you insane? Remove a component from a gestalt while bound? You'll destroy the component's mind, whether we're in there or not."

"We'll try it with his _left_ arm, just to see," Scowl suggested.

With varying war-cries, the five Shells attacked. Any organised battle plans were forgotten. They didn't often fight as a unit and it showed.

They didn't hold back because they didn't need to. Monstructor wanted to live, so the Pretender Monsters had a deep, subconscious compulsion not to kill each other. They could wound, but not kill. But Monstructor took a _lot_ of power to remain active. With luck, if they wore Monstructor down enough, he would collapse into his component parts.

There was a change in the charge of the air, and an eruption of lightning struck Monstructor in the chest. Birdbrain whirled. "Eidolon! Get _out_ of here! You're what he's after!"

"I will not abandon my watchtower!"

Her own fear was overpowering her radiations. She wasn't thinking rationally. Birdbrain leapt, hitting the much larger Decepticon in the chest and bringing her to the floor. Eidolon grabbed him by the synth-feather ruff of his neck and tossed him away. He bounced once before regaining his feet and realising that killing her would have the same effect as getting her out of Monstructor's range.

He pounced again, talons ready, and got a beakful of lightning. Eidolon attacked without grace or skill, but with her power, she didn't seem to need it.

Without warning, the lights went out. Birdbrain screeched in frustration; he was so heavily visual-oriented that the sudden darkness rendered him all but useless.

* * *

When the lights went out, Alkali cursed. The only light came from Steelcast, and that was just her four small running lights. Which wouldn't have been so bad if power still flowed through the walls. 

"What?"

"My night-vision is lousy and with the power off, I can't sense the walls," groaned Alkali. "Tell me you have headlights."

"I don't. I can brighten these things, though." Good as her word, Steelcast did, but it didn't do more than show where she was.

"Red running lights. What good's that in a refinery?"

"Oh, like I designed my own body. I got enough light for me. Just keep close without riding my bumper."

It was easier to follow Steelcast's personal energy field than her lights. It was a bother to try to follow the designer's trail exactly, but it beat the chance of running into walls at high speed.

She still almost smacked into the hauler when Steelcast screeched to a stop. "Oh, _rust_."

"What?"

Steelcast radiated frustration. "Hit a dead-end instead of more corridor. We got time to turn around and find another hall?"

Alkali transformed. "Doubt it."

At least there was a bit of light in the area, coming from a set of six fat pipes running along one wall. It wasn't much, but at least Alkali could make out shadows.

Steelcast transformed, drew her crowbar, and looked up at the pipes. "Coolant lines?"

"Worth a try?"

"Might buy us a minute or two." Steelcast wedged her crowbar behind the conduit and pulled. It bent, but didn't rupture. "Little help?"

Wildfly bounded around a corner, laughing. "No time," Alkali hissed.

Alkali grabbed one of the outstretched paws – whose talons shredded her hand in the process – and swung the Shell at the bent conduit. Now it smashed, drenching Wildfly in coolant.

To their surprise, the Shell shuddered and seized up. Steelcast prodded his foot with her crowbar. "Hnh. About time we got a break."

_:You're scrap when I get up!.:_ Wildfly shrieked into their radios.

"'S got a point," said Steelcast. "I mean, he's puny, but he's still a Pretender. Think we should kill him while he's down?"

Alkali considered that. "I don't think you can kill someone by destroying his Shell. Let's just chop his limbs off and see what happens."

* * *

In the back of Icepick's mind, he knew that they needed to have more training exercises together. As a unit, they were dreadful. Of course, the more time that was spent together just gave Monstructor more chances to manifest … 

The gestalt's left arm suddenly went limp. For an instant, Monstructor looked almost startled, then he collapsed into his six components, the connectors vanishing. The Pretender Shells all stopped where they stood as the sudden unbinding snapped them all back into their minds. Five got to their feet; Wildfly lay on the floor, moaning.

Scowl wiggled out of the now too-large shackle and kicked his gestaltmate in the side. Wildfly just groaned. "Slagging techie glitches fragged my Shell …"

"Serves you freening right," grumbled Bristleback, then brought his foot down on Wildfly's arm, cracking the armour and damaging the machinery inside. "We should just kill you, you slagger! It'd solve all our problems."

"You try it! _He_ won't let you!" Wildfly hissed.

Bristleback moved to stomp on Wildfly's face, but at the last second crushed his shoulder instead. Wildfly laughed at him. In response, Bristleback merely limped over to his Shell and phased into it.

The others had regained their Shells already. Slog waddled over, then casually stabbed his claw into Wildfly's left wing, pinning him to the floor. "Kill you, no, but punish, oh _yes_."

"Dump him in a smelter!"

"Drop him down a crevasse!"

"Slate him!"

"I think, Scowl, allowed that would not be," said Slog regretfully.

Scowl's jagged mouth approximated a smirk. "Let your chemist friend play with him?"

"Tempting, that."

"Oh, hey, you lot took him down."

Icepick looked over to find Steelcast peering around the ruins of the door, or such as she could in truck-mode. "Not us. Destroying Wildfly's Shell caused him so much pain that the bindings snapped."

"We shoulda done that in the first place," Bristleback snorted, then took a bite out of Wildfly's leg.

"We can't hurt each other severely enough," Birdbrain reminded him.

Steelcast rolled in. Icepick was mildly surprised that Alkali was perched on the back of the hauler, behind the crucible, though she didn't look badly damaged enough to need a ride. When Steelcast stopped, Alkali carefully stepped down to allow her to transform. Once she finished, Steelcast reached back to take the chemist's undamaged arm, and Icepick realised Alkali couldn't see in the dark.

Alkali activated her radio. "You can restore power, Memory."

The lights came back on and Steelcast let Alkali go. Alkali gave a long, unreadable look at Slog, who still had Wildfly pinned to the floor, then returned her attention to the room at large. "We kept tellin' you tool-jockeys that he couldn't be contained, but _no_, you all knew best," grumbled Bristleback.

"Give it a rest," snapped Steelcast.

Eidolon stood, keeping her back to the wall. Murder could be easily read in her optics, but even she realised that she was in no position to mete out her vengeance. Eidolon may have been in her watchtower, but here, now, in this smashed room with seven upset Decepticons – five of them Pretenders – she was sorely outmatched.

Slog finally withdrew his talon from Wildfly and ambled over to the Monitor. "And you, Eidolon. Do what with you, us?"

Memory stepped in – Icepick hadn't noticed her arrival. "If you kill her, it will just cause a turf war in the High Council, and I have no desire to be caught in the middle. Except for this incident, she has been an efficient and accomplished Monitor."

"She has no second?" asked Birdbrain.

"If anyone, that would be me," said Memory. "I am unfit for the position. Whoever the Council sends to replace her may be worse than she was. At least she knows the danger you pose."

Slog nodded, then looked up at Eidolon. "Warn your Monitor-kin. If come we, cast us out."

Eidolon didn't reply, merely stalked to the door. "Lord Councillor?" asked Alkali.

"Oh, just gather your things and leave. Memory will show you out," snarled Eidolon. "I have no more use for any of you."

* * *

The call came through the wires, bypassing minor firewalls and tapping directly into the comm system. There were no voices here, but memory supplied the oily whisper: _:Eidolon.:  
_

As soon as she had realised the power had been shut off, Eidolon knew the other Monitors would come looking. She had wondered which would contact her first. _:Vapourblade.:  
_

_:Having problems, Eidolon?.:  
_

_:Minor difficulties only, and those are past.:_ With that, she slammed down her defences. She had no interest in the games of her kin, not right now.

She settled back in her throne, inspecting the damages she hadn't bothered having fixed yet. The armour wasn't corroded, not in the usual way. Instead, it was as if it had simply began to fall apart at the molecular level, as if Monstructor's touch was entropy, not decay …

Eidolon's optics brightened in a frown. Entropy.

She returned her attention to Wardword's archive of mystic sigils, watching as pictures flickered across the screen. The gestalt bindings of the Pretender Monsters had rearranged themselves in Monstructor's body into a pattern she was certain she had seen before …

… _There_ …

Eidolon settled back in her throne without taking her gaze from the screen. Her clever little technicians had the creativity to look for warding sigils against death and decay, but it hadn't occurred to any of them to look into _other_ types of symbols.

The pattern was a Devourist binding sigil, but her files told her little more than that. Eidolon hissed quietly to herself and decided the Fifth Sector was about to become _very_ dangerous for cultists again.

* * *

By the request of his gestaltmates, Wildfly was left unrepaired. Once his Shell knit itself back together and he merged with it he would be fixed, but not before then. Eidolon locked herself in her control room and refused to come out, so Steelcast and Alkali found they only needed to do repairs on each other. 

To Steelcast's amusement, Alkali decided that since Eidolon had interrupted her supply run, she would restock from the Nyxmount's storerooms. Steelcast would have done the same thing if she had the carrying capacity and if Eidolon had anything she really wanted. In the end, Steelcast pocketed a class-two laser drill and a full set of phase detectors, just because she felt she should have _something_ to show for her time.

The pieces of Wildfly's broken Shell were dumped into a small trailer, which they hooked up to Alkali's main trailer. Wildfly made to climb on top, but Slog pushed him off and took the spot himself.

Relaxed and happy, wearing his Shell, he looked like a fat, smug, alien idol. Steelcast reminded herself that this was arguably the greatest artist on Cybertron and bit back a snigger. Instead she double-checked the trailer's latches. "Where are you lot heading after this?"

Slog waved a claw vaguely. "Lives lived separately. Very rarely come together, we, but when we must … we must." He blinked up at Steelcast, eyelids adding one more aspect of strangeness to his Shell. "Ride, I, with Alkali – between here and Betacron lies her outpost; that far with her go I. Hopefully, too, will a deep hole be found to drop Wildfly's Shell in."

The sculptor bounced maliciously, jostling the Shell inside the trailer and causing Wildfly to whimper. Bristleback snorted at him. "Suck it up, trinket."

Icepick hopped up on the trailer to sit beside Slog, which seemed to be the signal for Alkali to start driving. Steelcast shifted to her vehicle-mode and followed. "I might as well tag along as well. Got no other contracts right now."

"As well, no doubt will Wildfly follow us," said Slog.

"We could kill him for you," offered Alkali.

"If you tried, we'd have to stop you," said Icepick. He tapped his midsection with a rough claw. "Same compulsion that doesn't let us kill each other. No, we have to split up, far enough away that we can't help each other, and hope that one of us is killed."

"Want to die do none of us," Slog added sadly. "Not compulsion, just desire to live. Fight for life though we know he will again rise."

They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Alkali asked, "Am I out of your debt now, Slog?"

Slog chuckled. "Aided us, yes, but work was done by us mostly."

"We got your combined form to unbind!"

"Done it eventually, we would have. Besides, saved your life, I, and here were _we_ in no danger."

"What if I got you a copy of all Eidolon's research on you?"

_That_ caught his attention. "Have you that, you do?"

"I might," said Alkali, "if you'll call us even."

* * *

Memory walked into the control room and looked up. Eidolon was still slouched in her throne, brooding. She hadn't yet bothered with repairs and was still covered in corrosion. 

"I spoke for you," said Memory.

"I know."

"You live because of my words."

"Does that not say that you are more valuable to me soulless and sane, able to speak such words?" Eidolon shifted slightly in her seat, looking at her ruined arm. "Prepare the main laboratory. I would like to examine my damages in more detail before I have them repaired."

Memory nodded and left. She had been certain that would be the answer, but it was habit to try.

* * *

The trailer with Wildfly's Shell had been duly dumped down a crevasse near the Five-Eight Sector border. Slog and Icepick had parted from them when they reached the edge of the ruined city that Middle watched over. As luck would have it, there was a minor skirmish within the hour of their arrival at the base, and Alkali and Steelcast found themselves spending the rest of the day fixing jets. 

Eventually the last warrior had been put back together and shooed out of the repair bay. Steelcast put her tools away, glanced around with some satisfaction, then nodded. "Right. There's got to be a bar around here. C'mon, I'll buy you a drink."

Alkali stayed where she was seated, toying with a spanner. "I'd better not."

"What? Can't hold your high-grade?"

"No, it's …" The chemist sighed. "We've been through too much and I like you too much. I don't want to risk it."

"Oh, for … I'm offering to pay for a couple rounds of fuel, not asking you to be my bondmate!" Steelcast shouted.

"I know that!" Alkali shouted back. "I'm not telling you to get lost, just that I need some distance."

"'Distance'?" Steelcast snorted. "Ha. I probably deserve that. I gave the same line to some techs a few months ago." She thought that over. "'Course, if I was with them, I wouldn't have been a target for Eidolon."

Alkali's visor flashed a blink. "You did what?"

The designer shrugged. "Got an offer from a group to join 'em. I said I needed to think it over alone."

"So you're not really attached to your trinemate? You're just separate – not a broken unit?"

"Nah, me and Tackle will never get back together. We just use the old term out of affection."

If there was no group, there was no temptation to try to fill in the missing piece. And since they kept misunderstanding each other and getting mad, they couldn't be _that_ close … Alkali stayed seated anyway. "I'll take you up on the offer next time you're in the area. I'm just too wound up right now."

To Alkali's relief, Steelcast accepted that. "Fine. I'll catch you later." She chuckled. "Just don't move for the next few decades."

As Steelcast touched the door panel, Alkali said, "Wait."

"Yeah?"

"Try Aradix. It's not real big, but it's mostly refineries."

The designer looked down her lack of nose. "You, 'Li, are typecasting me."

"Ach, when I first met you, you stank of slag!"

"Never said you weren't _right_."

**_The End._**

**_

* * *

_**  
_Alkali lives in Lunatron's head, but sometimes she goes visiting. The_ Canthrethan Aishea _is Skyblaze's. I finally snuck it in. Various terms were nicked from Koi, and insults were stolen from everywhere. – Wayward_


End file.
